


Just a Little Roleplay

by yuffiehighwind



Series: Just a Little Roleplay [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-01
Updated: 2009-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cynical Night Elf hunter loiters in Dalaran and thinks back on Shattrath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Little Roleplay

Yamara leans in the doorway to A Hero's Welcome. Patrons come and go behind her, squeezing past into the street, their pets and minions following them, jostling the elf. Her cat Sabre lies by some casks chewing on some toy she got him - overpriced at the shop across town. Gnomes will get you to buy anything.

_So this is the Dalaran I heard all the stories about._

It's lost its majesty somewhat by opening its doors to every adventurer who seeks sanctuary. Shattrath had always prided itself on its inclusivity. Refugees and soldiers, children and parents, Ethereals and Goblins looking to make a buck - all these people sought shelter in the community that sprung up around the Naaru's temple, and strangely enough, it worked. Even while the Scryers and Aldor scowled at each other from their balconies, commoners and kings mingled in the Lower City, all brought down by the Legion or by circumstance. A community formed out of necessity, but it seemed right somehow. Outland was a broken planet, but some happiness and safety could be found there, in the city transients lovingly called "Shat." People giggled. Even Yamara giggled at the double meaning. Shat out of the Twisting Nether and into the middle of the forest, surrounded by mountains and presided over by a floating crystal thing. "Shat" was an appropriate name.

Shattrath wasn't legendary, and it wasn't clean, and it wasn't always peaceful. The Draenei - looking far too much like the Eredar - creeped Yamara out, and the Horde were present in larger numbers than at any Goblin outpost. 

But Dalaran...

It was the magical city of the Kirin Tor, the most prestigious mages of Azeroth! Destroyed and rebuilt and destroyed again, sealed up for years after its last casualties, encased in a mysterious purple bubble in the Alterac Mountains. Everyone wondered, _what were they doing in there?_

When the mages came out of hiding and undertook the monumental task of flying their citadel to the frigid northland...Well, Dalaran became a hotspot. Alliance and Horde, mages and warlocks, wary druids and disdainful shaman...No one could deny that Dalaran was at the center of everything. Malygos and his flight, Arthas and his Scourge...These could be fought from Dalaran as a safe haven. A sanctuary in the freezing dark. 

And no one could deny that once having arrived, Dalaran was a beacon of airy light in the darkness of the north. Cheery and hospitable, rich and diverse, Dalaran proved to be "the place to be!"

_Hmph. So this is the fabled city? Humans._

Yamara had been everywhere and seen everything and could be pessimistic about a new puppy. Or a spa treatment, or a smiling face. _She's looking at me funny._

Night elves never trusted magic. Everything was so clean! So pretty! So goddamn neat! 

Which would be just fine if Yamara didn't know about a thousand adventurers came through day by day in a constant stream, in and out, staying in the inn and departing just as quickly, clogging up the streets with noise and chatter, animals and mounts, spells and minions and _oh my goddess were those **Blood Elves** dancing by the mailbox?_

Dalaran had become a less somber place. Some of the Kirin Tor were thrilled. Pleased as peaches. Goblins and gnomes, crafters and teachers, merchants of all sorts settled down in the _small, cramped, noisy little_ _city_ to make a living off the "heroes" of Azeroth, and Yamara couldn't blame them. But she almost wished for a day - _one single quiet day_ \- someone didn't ride a wooly mammoth over the bank steps and step on her. 

_Same shit, different day._


End file.
